Dreaming of You
by wren4
Summary: "You're never forgotten as long as someone's dreaming of you." What happens when SD-6 finds Vaughn? Does he live, does he die? And where do you move on from here? *Finished* Please forgive all the mistakes and horrible writing,I rushed b/c I have to leave
1. Blood and Darkness

Disclaimer: You know how this works, none of its mine...  
  
  
Chapter One  
  
Blood and Darkness  
  
  
"...Vaughn..."  
  
Who? Sydney? What was she doing here? Wait, where was here?  
  
"Wake up, Mr. Vaughn."  
  
Mr. Vaughn? Not Sydney then. But who?  
  
It took him what seemed like minutes to finally open his eyes. Whoever it was, they were patient. His head throbbed with the effort, and the colors reeled and spun, finally settling in splotches of red and gray, not an attractive mix. It reminded him of blood and darkness, two things he can live without.  
  
"That's right, Mr. Vaughn. Take it easy, this can't be comfortable."  
  
It wasn't. Something sticky dripped down his neck, and he became aware of a distinctive fire in his wrists. He wiggled them experimentally, but it only made it worse. He blinked several times, the depth and light coming back into his vision, dissolving the colors into shades of black, white, and pink.  
  
Crows, clouds, and candy hearts.  
  
"Candy hearts, Mr. Vaughn? I think it's about time get up, and I know just the way..."  
  
Pain. And his eyes cleared with frightening speed, showing him a small, square gray room lit by a single bare bulb, and a face he'd seen only in pictures. It's so close he can see every pore, feel the hot sting of breath on his neck. It took longer for the name to penetrate his muzzy conscious: Arvin Sloane.  
  
Oh God, they have Sydney.   
  
"We've been watching you for quite awhile, Mr. Vaughn. Very impressive, so young for a job like yours."  
  
Donovan. He'd been walking Donovan. It had been the man with the briefcase following him; it was so obvious now, looking back.  
  
"Now, you might know that we have a little rodent problem, and I was hoping you might be able to help."  
  
They don't know it's Sydney. Relief flooded his body, bringing him a little peace of mind.  
  
Sloane took an almost gentle hold of his middle finger, expertly bending it to the angle that would cause the most agony, and slowly applying more pressure.  
  
NO. He clamped his teeth over is tongue, drawing blood; if fear had a taste, it would taste like blood. For your country, for the safety of your country, keep silent. Not even a whimper to let them know they're hurting you.  
  
He whimpered. The pain was driving him out of his head, escalating until he strained to here the snap of bones that did not come. Damn the country, they'd never remember him anyway.   
  
For her, then. For her smiles, her frowns, all those tears, for her life. For Sydney.  
  
The actual feel of his bones breaking was sweet release. His whole body quivered with the feeling, driving sore spots against the harsh metal of the chair.  
  
"Hmmm...Interesting. Those are some nasty cuts, Mr. Vaughn. Are you sure you've had all your shots? We better make sure, just in case."  
  
The needle appeared to his left, conveniently in his line of vision so he could watch the clear liquid spill over, beading down the sides. An irrational part of his minds wondered vaguely if the needle was sterile while his eyes traveled up to the face of the henchman holding it.   
  
Jack Bristow; he should have known. Jack had never liked him; it would be so easy to rid himself of this nuisance now. And it would all fall under the excuse of keeping Sydney safe.  
  
The needle penetrated the skin of his arm, and he could almost feel death tracing itself in ugly black lines through his veins.  
  
He turned inward before it could reach him, concentrating on all those little tips he had been given to survive just such a situation. Too bad he had never believed it would happen to him.   
  
1..2..3...Je vous salue, Marie...2..3...Je vous salue, Marie, pleine de grâce, le Seigneur et avec vous...4..5...Vous êtes bénie entre toutes les femmes, et Jesus...5..5...et Jesus, le fruit de vos entrailles, est béni...6...Sainte Marie, mère de Dieu...7..8...priez pour nous, pauvres pécheurs...9...maintenant et à l'heure de notre mort. Amen...10.  
  
And the world fell away.  
  
  
A/N: Do you really think I'd let Vaughn die? VAUGHN? Seriously, read and review and wait for the next chapter. 


	2. Never Forgotten

Chapter Two  
  
Never Forgotten  
  
She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.  
  
Sydney. She must have done some talking to be allowed in here, and his guess was that Jack Bristow had backed her for some twisted reasons of his own. Thanks, Jack.   
  
"Mr. Vaughn...Mr. Vaughn, you need to get up, I have to talk to you." He couldn't help but flinch at the use of his last name.  
  
Something sparked in her eyes, quickly suppressed. She pulled him roughly to his feet, giving him an extra shove to send him off balance, then grabbing his arm to keep him from falling over.  
  
"Now, Mr. Vaughn, I can promise you this will all be over if you just tell us the name of the mole. We'll find you a safe place and you'll never have to worry about anything again. A name is all it takes..."  
  
He shook his head.  
  
"Not a wise choice." She poked and hit and jostled him, obviously with some purpose, moving him to certain spot in the room. It didn't take him long to realize she was trying her best not to hurt him. So he yelped and whined as convincingly as he could whenever she connected with flesh; it wasn't all that hard to pretend it hurt. Finally, she pushed him so his back blocked the camera she knew was there.  
  
She leaned forward so that she could whisper in his ear, placing one hand on the bare skin at the back of his neck to balance herself. With the other she pressed a small object into the palm of his hand.  
  
"You're never forgotten as long as someone's dreaming of you."  
  
Stepping back, she gave him one last shove, and he made his fall as dramatic as he could. He sprawled on the floor and lay there sobbing with pain that was all too real.  
  
"There's nothing I can do for you." And she left him alone. In the dark. With his blood on his hands.  
  
He was still for a long time; simply turning the item Sydney had given him over and over in his hands. A pill, he decided at last. He wondered what it would do. Kill him? Would she really be able to do that? Of course, Sydney would do anything for her country, he'd seen that...But kill him? Was he ready to die?  
  
Trust Sydney.  
  
He clung to the words, making them his mantra.  
  
Trust Sydney. Trust, trust, trust, trust, trust.  
  
He brought his shaking fist to his mouth, and in his fumblings almost lost the pill on the dirty floor. He swallowed it dry and waited. He was ready now.  
  
Je vous salue, Marie...  
  
The world narrowed to two colors: red and gray. Red under his fingernails, gray on the walls.  
  
Blood and darkness.  
  
Two things he would have to learn to live and die with.  
  
  
A/N: So, do you think Sydney could do it? Read and review and you might just find out... 


	3. No Place Like Home

Chapter Three  
  
No Place Like Home  
  
It was dark when he woke, and he struggled instinctively against the constraints on him.  
  
"Stop that!" the harsh voice of Jack Bristow hissed. "You're supposed to be dead!"  
  
When Jack gave you a command you listened, so he stopped, lying quietly but unable to help the feeling of slowly suffocating.   
  
A couple of minutes passed in silence before he thought he heard a door open and people come clamoring in. The world, as limited as it was at the moment, lurched sickeningly as he was lifted none too gently by unkind hands. The body bag he was in swung in a slow rhythm as he was carried to some unknown location, occasionally banging against someone's hip. And all the while he was still.  
  
When they dropped him, he almost screamed as feeling swamped his numb limbs and old injuries. But he muffled his cries and tears in the black plastic.  
  
"Leave him here with me. I'll take care of the rest."  
  
More time passed, but he had gotten used to waiting in his time with Sydney. He was patient.  
  
The sky peeled back to reveal late twilight and Jack Bristow.  
  
"Gently, now." Jack's hands came out to help his attempts at a sitting position. "They'll be here soon for you, we won't have to wait long."   
  
"Why-"he voice broke off in a croak, so he tried again. "Why'd you do it? It would have been easier, less dangerous just to kill me..."  
  
"Mr. Vaughn, I may be a trained killer, but I also believe firmly in life. There was a chance to keep you alive, and it was worth it to take it." He pauses, and finally decides to go on. "Besides, you've seen her cry."  
  
A twig snaps, and they both turned in the direction of the sound, Vaughn at a much slower speed.  
  
"Eric," he breathes in relief, while Jack cusses him in a low voice for his clumsiness.   
  
Weiss gave him a drained smile and raised one limp hand in greeting. "How ya doin', Mike?"  
  
"I want to go home," he answers, feeling suddenly like a small, frightened child.  
  
Weiss regards him wearily, with a look that makes his stomach sink.   
  
"Mike, I'm so sorry...You can't. This isn't home anymore."   
  
  
A/N: So where is home? You know the drill: read, review, and find out. 


	4. Life in a Suitcase

Chapter Four  
  
Life in a Suitcase  
  
The walls are white, not so different from gray. He's still a prisoner, here inside the CIA.  
  
He sat on the floor, ignoring the bare cot, staring at the one suitcase resting between his drawn up knees. One suitcase. He never knew you could fit your whole life in one suitcase. All the rest was gone. Home was gone.  
  
Weiss was right; you can't go home when you're dead.   
  
He felt much too alive to be dead.  
  
At least they'd given him a shower, washed off most of the blood. He closed his eyes against the bright glare of the room, for the first time in his life wishing it was dark. So he couldn't see the ugly yellow of old bruises, the blue and white splint on his finger, the rust color of the dried blood he couldn't scrub out from under his fingers. So he couldn't see the mess his life had become.  
  
A mess that fits in one suitcase.  
  
The door behind him opened, and the guard gave a polite cough. Think of that, a polite prison guard. It was almost laughable.  
  
He turned around, all his movements slow and lethargic. What's the use in hurrying? Tomorrow will come for him anyway, take him far away from here.  
  
"There's a visitor here for you, sir." Vaughn made a sketchy nod, unsure of the answer required. Apparently, it was enough because the guard stepped back, letting someone in the room. "Five minutes, sir."  
  
The door shut, and he was left alone with Sydney Bristow.  
  
She stood uncertainly just over threshold, staring him with her eyes, tearing out his soul. He didn't want her to see what was written there, so he turned his head away from her gaze, concentrating on the walls, the suitcase, anything but her.  
  
His heart began to pound out a jumpy cadence in a way he's grown familiar with by now, only there's a bitter twist to it this time. There's another obstacle between them now, more serious than ever before. It made protocol look like an anthill. Why hadn't he said something when he had the chance? There was no time anymore. This would be the last time he'll ever see his beautiful spy, his odd sort of hero.  
  
What do you say to the woman who saved your life? How do you say goodbye?  
  
  
A/N: We know Vaughn, though. He always thinks up something to say, even if he doesn't speak out loud... 


	5. Five Minutes

Chapter Five  
  
Five Minutes  
  
How do you say goodbye?  
  
How do you tell someone you love her?  
  
It would take a lifetime, but all they had been given was five minutes.  
  
"How are you doing?" she asked hesitantly, but refusing to drop her eyes.  
  
"Fine." Her eyes darted to the floor, telling him wordlessly that she had been expecting a different answer. "Truthfully? I'm scared to death, Syd. I don't know how I'm going to do this without you."  
  
"Without me?" She moved over to stand beside him, her arms wrapping around his middle in the tiniest of hugs. It was too much for his self-control, and he held her back. "All I ever do is burden you with my problems and mess up your life. I am the one who doesn't know how I'm going to do this without you." He could hear the echoes of tears in her voice, and he remembered what Jack had said. She had cried for him.  
  
And his troubles are gone as quickly as that, replaced by the need to soothe hers. There will always be a childish part of him that believes as long as Sydney is smiling the world must be all right.   
  
"'Your never forgotten as long as someone's dreaming of you.' What if I promised to dream about you? That way you won't be alone again."  
  
"No, never alone. No matter what country, no matter how short the dress or uncomfortable the shoes."  
  
His laugh had a rough edge to it. "My prayers too, then."  
  
"Prayers? I didn't know you prayed."   
  
"My mother taught me the Hail Mary when I was little, in English and French. For you I'll do anything, even pray. On my knees. Je vous salue, Marie, pleine de grace...Hail Mary, full of grace..."  
  
She stepped back, laughing, and his arms fell limp and empty by he sides.  
  
Time was running short. Go on, then. Stop wasting time. "Syd, I-I-"  
  
The door opened, and the world blew in like an icy wind. "Sir? I'm sorry, but five minute is up."  
  
He knew the words were on his lips, but he couldn't quite bring himself to say it now. His courage had failed him. "Thank you, Sydney." At least it was better than goodbye.  
  
She merely smiled, "Sweet dreams, Vaughn." The guard took her arm firmly, leading her out of the room.  
  
He panicked. "Sydney! Wait! I love you!"  
  
The door closed.   
  
She had left him. In the blinding light. With his heart in his hands.  
  
He didn't even know if she had heard him.   
  
  
  
A/N: So did she hear him? REVIEW!!! And maybe I'll tell you... 


	6. Three Years

Chapter Six  
  
Three Years  
  
It was raining the next morning, as he stood outside, clutching his one suitcase. Rain is a good way to hide tears, but he didn't cry. Dead men don't cry.  
  
Everyone in small party wore rain jackets, and he watched the rain slide off his arms with a sort of dazed interest. No one would have ever guessed that hidden under the jackets of all his companions were an assortment of guns. So they valued him enough to give him an armed escort. Or they valued his information, either way it didn't matter anymore.  
  
The whole world was gray it seemed, gray like the walls of his cell. There would be a part of him that would never again be free.  
  
He had dreamed the night before. The urgency of it still haunted him, setting all his nerves on edge. In his dream, Sydney had been waiting for him at home, but he had forgotten where home was.  
  
Jack Bristow glanced at his watch again, the plane wasn't late, it just seemed to be some sort of nervous habit. Vaughn thought it was strange how Jack had volunteered to lead the group seeing him off. Almost touching, considering the history between the two of them.  
  
She was among them before they knew what was happening, and she was in his arms before they could even aim their guns. She was good at what she did.  
  
He caught her instinctively when she hurled herself at him, dropping his suitcase in a puddle and splattering water on their legs.  
  
"I hate you sometimes," she breathed before setting her mouth on his.  
  
When she finally let him go, he was too awed for a moment to say anything, only rubbed his hand along his jaw. "What--Why?"  
  
"Because you have the worst timing in the world. Not only was the guard dragging me out the door, but you were leaving the next day, probably forever..." she trailed off as she realized that was exactly what was happening. "Give three years."  
  
"Wha-Three...?" He still didn't feel quite coherent.  
  
"If you love me, you'll give me three years to finish what I'm doing here. Three years at the most."  
  
While she waited for his answer, he couldn't help but watch the water drip off her nose. Couldn't help but place a kiss on the end of it. "That's all you want from me?"  
  
She smiled, and his heart rose. Three years, he can do this. "That, and your dreams."  
  
"And my prayers."  
  
"And your prayers."  
  
Jack's voice cut into their bubble of happiness. "The plane's almost here. Sydney will have to be gone before they get here, no one's supposed to know you're here." Thanks, Jack.  
  
Saying goodbye was easy this time. And she left him again, but not quite alone, never alone.  
  
Three years. It's not so long when you think about it.  
  
  
A/N: So, does it take three years? And what happens then? Well, you might have to wait for it, unless I can get it written in an hour and thirty minutes because I'm going on vacation! Don't forget to review while I'm gone! 


	7. Two Dead People

"All the miles that separate  
Disappear now when I'm dreamin' of your face  
I'm here without you baby  
But you're still on my lonely mind  
I think about you baby and I dream about you all the time  
I'm here without you baby  
But you're still with me in my dreams  
And tonight, there's only you and me."  
  
-from HERE WITHOUT YOU  
Three Doors Down   
  
Epilogue  
  
Two Dead People  
  
  
He got to keep his name. He thinks it might have been harder to make the transition if he hadn't been Michael Vaughn.  
  
He sat in his favorite little café, watching people through the window, and pushing his cold breakfast around on his plate. He's had a lot of time to think lately. Think about love and what it really means. A lot of time to dream. Dream about how they're going to work this out, because it he doesn't have any illusions that this will be easy. Too much time and too much distance, but he's amazed at how well he remembers her face.   
  
He gave up on the people outside and looked up straight into her eyes, materialized right in front of him. He wondered dimly how long she had been standing there, and blinked. He gave himself a mental shake and figured he must be dreaming again. It's only been a year and a half, not quite long enough for her to be here.  
  
But then she slid across the slick leather of the booth to sit down beside him. "Sydney Bristow's dead," she said almost conversationally. He was quiet, knowing she had more she needed to say. "Sloane believes she died on a mission. She was captured, tortured, and killed. They only identified her by her dental records." She paused, the pain still raw. "They told Will and Francie that she died in a plane crash on her way home."  
  
"You mean...?" he couldn't seem to wrap him mind around the possibility.  
  
"Yes, SD-6 still exists. It would have taken a lifetime of work, maybe two lifetimes, to finally take it down. But they've already had enough of my life. I have no doubt that someone else can finish the job."   
  
They were silent for a moment, both letting the meaning of this finally sink in. "So," he broke the silence, "if Sydney Bristow's dead, what do I call you?"  
  
She leaned into him, hiding her smile in his shoulder. "I've always had a fondness for the name Sydney Vaughn for some reason..."  
  
He laughed, putting his arm around her to pull her closer. "You sound like some love-struck teenager...You haven't been writing my name all over your binders, have you?"  
  
"Oh, no, that's much too juvenile. I've been practicing the flourishes in my signature."  
  
"Then we can't let all your hard work go to waste. Just tell me one thing, how do two dead people start a life together?"  
  
"A life together? Why, Michael Vaughn, I barely know you!" She looked playfully at him under her lashes, so he knew she was just teasing. "Let's start will dinner and movie and see where we go form there."  
  
She was right though, there was a lot they still didn't know about each other. But dead was forever, and forever was long enough to learn.  
  
And if he was still dreaming, he didn't ever want to wake up again. 


End file.
